


Perspective

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Drawing, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Painting, Scars, Threesome - F/M/M, Writing on Skin, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha loves to watch Steve paint on Clint's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt at comment-fic at livejournal: writing on the skin

Natasha watched as Steve ran his paintbrush across the skin of Clint’s back, gestural sweeps of paint, soft and full. Both men were naked, sitting on Steve’s bed, Clint in front, his legs tangled in the white cotton sheets. Clint was trying to hold still, tensing only slightly at the tickle of the hairs of the brush.

Natasha let out a little laugh when she realized what Steve was drawing.

“What?” Clint said, “Steve, you’d better not be writing ‘Clint is a dork’ or something.”

“Nah,” Steve joked, “I’m writing ‘Clint gives the best head in the world.’”

“Hell, if that’s what you’re writing, don’t hide it on my back, put it where the world can see,” Clint replied, and Natasha and Steve both laughed.

Natasha sat down next to them, leaning her head on Steve’s shoulder as he worked, watching the design unfold on Clint’s flesh.

When Steve was done, Clint went to look in the bathroom mirror. Natasha followed and watched Clint’s jaw shift, almost imperceptible, at the sight.

Steve had painted wings on Clint’s back. Purple and black feathery brushstrokes, unfurling across his skin. Even the scars on Clint’s back looked beautiful, their shape and textures integrated into the whorls and patterns of paint. 

Steve, somehow, had made the wings look like something other than a joke. They looked lush, powerful, invincible. Soft. 

Clint swallowed and kept staring. Natasha ran a finger lightly down the center of the wings, slowly, carefully. 

“You like?” Steve asked, standing in the doorway. He looked a little nervous.

“I like,” Clint said with a smile. 

“Me too,” Natasha said, her finger still tracing a line up Clint’s spine.

Clint turned around, interlaced her fingers with his, and kissed her, long and steady, lingering. Then they both turned to Steve. “Come here.”


End file.
